


white wine in the blushing light

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Avenging Angel Terry Jeffords, Episode: s03e23 Greg and Larry, Friendship, Gen, He's just protective and buff, Platonic Relationships, Possibly edging into Mature, Protectiveness, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Vignette, Violence, bullet wounds, cursing, not really - Freeform, only because of the violence, please heed the warning, short one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 16:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: A different take on the call at the end of the episode.





	white wine in the blushing light

**Author's Note:**

> I just had feelings and an idea and here we go. I considered making a second chapter, and I might but it'll probably take me six months to get around to doing it.

“ _Drink up little man_ ,” the distorted voice curled around his ear and a shot of nausea made the smile on his face slip off.  “ _No, no, no,_ Officer _Peralta, step outside nice and easy.  Wipe that ugly expression off your pretty little face._ ”

 

Jake’s lip and leg twitched almost simultaneously.

 

“ _MOVE before I shoot a bullet through every single person in that bar!_ ”

 

“Jake?”  Charles had a confused smile on his face.  Jake couldn’t help but picture him a pile of limbs on the ground and a ring of upraised skin framing a hole in his skull.

 

He flashed a smile at Charles and the rest of the people he holds closest to him.  His leather jacket creaked as he slipped off the stool slowly and walked smoothly.  His fingers tapped rapidly over the table as he slid away and then wiggled into his front pocket.  He had nothing to leave, no time to give a message.

 

He stepped out of the warmth of the bar.

 

“ _Good, little man.  Now walk to your right, and in the alley.  If you so much as twitch your head at your friends I’ll put a bullet through ‘em.  No questions asked._ ”

 

Jake breathed through his nose.  “Why are you doing this?  What’s your motive?  You could’ve killed me any time.”

 

“ _I want the last thing you see to be my face.  I want you to die in fear.  I want you to beg for your mercy, and for their mercy.  I want you to know that either way I will take the lives of everyone you love as they watch me stand over your corpse._ ”  The line dropped.

 

Jake didn’t take one more step through the shadows befor someone stuffed a filthy rag into his mouth.  In the next second, his screams were as silent as the bullet that passed through his thigh.

 

The fall jarred the hole in his leg and another scream ripped itself from him, and once more before Figgis’s hand found itself almost ripping his hair off.  Again, Jake breathed through his nose.  Rainwater from the wet asphalt seeped into his jeans as fast as the blood did.

 

“You fucked up my entire operation.”  Figgis’s voice was borderline hysterical.

 

A steel boot tip collided gleefully with his singing ribs.  Over and over.  A resounding crack made a scream crawled up from his lungs and filter through the gag, turning into a rumbling growl in the damp alley air.

 

“Jake?”  Rosa’s voice echoed through the alley Figgis had chosen to be Jake’s deathbed.  His eyes widened in unadulterated panic and he scraped his chin trying to look up at the mob boss.

 

His pleas were incoherent even without the gag, but despite the disconnect Figgis still looked down at him with a maniac understanding of what was about to happen.

 

With an iron grip he hauled Jake to his feet and kept him there even through the agony in his thigh that made his leg turn into a useless length of _burnpainburn_.  There was a smooth _snikt_ and a cold blade was suddenly cozy up against his throat.

 

Figgis prepared to make his long-winded spiel containing only threats, “You take one more step, bi—“

 

And then the light coming from behind them was blocked by someone’s huge form.  Terry was there, huge and avenging as ever, tackling the shit out of Figgis.  In the process, Jake scraped his hands and the blade nicked his neck, a mere paper-cut-thin slice.

 

However, the blood pumping out of his thigh was another matter.

 

Vaguely, Jake could hear his squad calling his name.  _Jake_ , they said, _stay with me.  Call the ambulance.  He’s lost so much blood._

What a crazy group of people he loves.

 

* * *

 

The sight of Jake with a knife pressed up against his sweating, pale neck was something Charles Boyle could go an eternity or two without ever seeing again.  Especially not with the rust-colored stain spreading from the middle of his thigh all the way down to his sock.

 

And, God, Charles wished he hadn’t looked as his best friend slipped away from him, eyes rolling into the back of his head.  The squad huddled close together, watching as the ambulance took him from them.  Figgis was gone, handcuffed and bleeding from his nose and split lip.

 

Terry wishes he had more time to break his nose in a third place, but Jake was priority.  He was family.

 

“We must make a statement,” Holt said, “And then we will stay with Jake.”  The finality in his words expressed more than any show of emotion could have.  Of course, the dark glint in his eyes was a giveaway, too.  But no one could tear their eyes away from the puddle of dark, dark blood on the asphalt.

 

It began to rain.


End file.
